The Magic Number

In an age where cross-dressing is the norm and where people think it’s okay to wear denim-on-denim, it’s odd to think that the number of people one has slept with, still holds so much responsibility for defining a person. Normally, I’d be of the opinion that it doesn’t really matter. But as of late, I’ve had a change of heart and think that actually, it does have a lot to answer for.

I’m not condemning men or women for sleeping with lots of different people but I think that, in all honesty, it can change your opinion of how important you are to them in the first few weeks of getting to know each other. If a guy tells you that he’s only slept with a few people, a couple of relationships and a couple of regrettable one night stands, then you think; normal guy. But if he says that he’s slept with over forty women at the age of roughly 22, most of which were ‘awesome one night stands’ then (correct me if I’m wrong girls) alarms bells go off in your mind.

I don’t know whether or not this stems from my Catholic girls school education where if you even kissed a boy you were called a slut, but I really do think people should start choosing who they sleep with, with a little more caution. I have a number of Christian friends who believe that sex should be something kept within marriage and although I would never agree with abstaining, I’m starting to think it’s actually probably a very nice thing to do. I’d hate to know that on my wedding day, my husband had slept with a ridiculous number of random women. Although knowing that I was the one who managed to pin him down for more than one night of fun would probably be rather satisfying.

I’m not saying that people who sleep with lots of different people are ‘dirty’ and I’m certainly not ignorant enough to believe that they’re more likely to carry an STI; it’s really more of an ’emotional’ thing. I think it’s nicer knowing that you a) know all the names of the people you’ve slept with b) liked them all and c) you would still say hello to them if you saw them in the street instead of running in the opposite direction.

During a sex education class at sixth form, someone was made to stand on stage and have tape stuck to the hairs on his arm. The first time the tape was removed, it was painful, memorable, and the hall erupted in laughter and screams. But as the plaster was repeatedly reapplied and removed, it became boring and meaningless. This was the Catholic School’s answer to a sex allegory. Naughty eh? But despite the whole experience being completely cringe worthy and at the time disregarded, I can’t help but wonder whether they had a point. Does sex become more meaningless the more people you “do it” with..?

A guy asked recently what my magic number was and on telling him, he multiplied it by three and said that he believed that was closer to the truth. Looking flabbergasted, I asked him whether I looked ‘easy’ and he explained that for women you multiply whatever they say by three, and for men you divide it by three. And that’s the real answer. This made me start to think about whether or not people past the age of fifteen lie about their sexual history. Surely not? Despite being favourable of a more modest number, I still think it’s important to be proud of your past and if you feel it necessary to tell porkies, then you’ve got to realise that surely something’s up.

Being completely honest? I think it’s more a personal thing. If someone I really liked told me they’d slept with five billion people, I probably wouldn’t care. And if my best friend admitted to me that she’d actually slept with six hundred, I’d probably rate her…

Besides, on the subject of sex, practise really does make perfect.

Leave a Reply